Part 1: 10.10.10. A Story of Grit, Determination; and Maybe Just a Touch of Insanity.

First, a word of warning: This isn't how anyone will tell
you to "train" for your first marathon—or any marathon, for that matter. So
please don't take this as a recommendation or a methodology to follow! But that
being said, I hope the crazy story of my
first marathon is at least amusing and at best inspiring.

And a couple things about me to put this story in context: I'm
a stereotypical weekend warrior—I work a full-time job (10 hours per day, 5
days per week) and keep plenty busy outside of work as well between working out
9-12 hours per week and spending time with friends. The other thing you need to
know about me is I am a die-hard football fan. For those reading who are true Oregonians,
you'll have to forgive my team preference, but hopefully you'll at least appreciate
my dedication: In my entire life, I've only missed two home games at Cal.
Yes—you read that correctly—just two home games. Obviously a priority in my
life!

So with that, rewind to last spring—one of my closest
friends up here and her training partner had just registered for the Portland
marathon, and I thought my friend was out of her mind! Sure, I'd done some running
in my time, but nothing especially serious since college, and nothing anywhere near 26.2 miles! And besides, we had a
home game on October 9 versus UCLA, so that seemed to be that. But I figured I
could do some of her weekend training runs with her and at least get some good
miles in.

As we started running on the weekends, I became increasingly
jealous of her and her goal—she had something big to strive for, and I wanted
that too. So in late May, I registered for the marathon. I'd figure out that
football game issue later ... and I started doing a few double-days per week,
getting the short runs done in the mornings before work and continuing my usual
regimen at the gym in the evenings.

The Helvetia Half came and went in June, then our 15-miler
toward the end of the month. Both were challenging but doable. I was starting
to feel like I might actually be able to do this! But then we ran the Sauvie
Island Flat Half on the 4th of July ... and everything seemed to fall
apart. It was by far my worst run psychologically. It was supposed to feel
"easy," right? I mean, come on—it was a flat course! But my stomach was in
knots, and I felt like I was dragging my feet through sand the whole way.

To make matters worse, in the days immediately following the
race, I started feeling a sharp pain in the top of my right foot—I was worried
it was a stress fracture. All told, I was having serious doubts about whether
26.2 was in the cards for me—if I'd struggled with 13.1 so much, how on earth
could I expect to go twice as far? I stopped running almost completely—it wasn't
fun anymore, I was stressed about it, and I was in a near-constant state of
exhaustion.

So I took some time off and picked up running with my friend
again once she'd started to taper in early September, which also meant the
start of football season. I ran when I was in town, and the other weekends I
spent in the Bay Area at football games. I procrastinated figuring out what to
do about marathon weekend—I wanted to be here for my friend, but of course I
couldn't miss the game! So in the end, I decided not to compromise anything—I
booked a Friday night flight to San Francisco and a late-night Saturday flight
home, landing at 12:30am on marathon day. Not only that, I promised my friend
to run at least part of it with her.

So the weekend finally arrived—I flew down to the Bay Area,
had a late night in Berkeley on Friday night and an early morning on Saturday
for the 12:30 game. By the time I was back in Portland, marathon day had
already dawned—cold and wet. I got home and into bed around 1:30am.

I was up a little under 4 hours later to stretch, dress, and
try to wake up. I felt a little groggy but surprisingly good—my stomach wasn't
doing backflips, and I'd actually managed to foam-roll that morning, so my legs
felt pretty good!

But I hadn't been able to shake this nagging thought in the
back of my mind—if I showed up to the starting line, didn't I have to cross the finish? If I could get
myself over the St. Johns Bridge and to Mile 18, wasn't I obligated to find a way to run—or at the very least walk—the last
8.2? Get the medal and the shirt? A dangerous line of thinking for someone as
stubborn as me. Plus, the thought had crossed my mind that if I could pull off 26.2
with basically zero serious training in the last couple months, there was no
reason I couldn't actually train for and complete the Half Ironman I'd been
contemplating for next summer. If only I had the grit to do this ...

Want more? Check back tomorrow for part 2 of Amanda's crazy -- but super hero-esque story!